


I Love You. Let's Light Ourselves On Fire

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Battle Buddies AU, Fake AH Crew, Ficlet Collection, M/M, battle buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Vignettes, or a collection of prompts from tumblr. BB!AU and FAHC.[August 2017]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @gaywood on tumblr. Love you Ry!  
> Warnings for injury description and those injury's effects on a human being.
> 
> "jeremwood prompt: battle buddies, not knowing if the other is ok/alive and then them turning up injured (either bad or somewhat ok) and the uninjured one kissing the fuck outta the other n calling him a bastard"

Jeremy blinks away the blurriness in his eyes, and shakes his head to dispel the ringing in his ears. It's almost as though his brain isn't fixed in there anymore – hell, he can practically feel it rattling around if he tries to move too quickly. Man, that rocket really did a number on the surrounding area.

Time to move.

There's something wrong with his left leg, in that it seems to be leaking from somewhere just underneath his hip. It hurts like a motherfucker, but that isn't the pressing issue right now. The problem at hand is that he and Ryan were separated during the blast, and he's not really registering exactly what happened just yet, only that he needs to find Ryan--

Where was he? When the airstrike hit, where was he? Jeremy thinks he might have been covering him at the time, which means that maybe he was in one of those buildings that...

That isn't there anymore.

He's too concussed to feel anything. He simply thinks,  _oh, Ryan_ _could be dead._

_...But he might_ _not_ _be dead, either._

Clinging to the thought that his Battle Buddy might just be under layers of concrete boulders, he begins to wade through the rubble. Someone shoots at him pathetically from across the debris; he fires back, with no motivating force behind it other than  _survive, find Ryan_. There's a satisfying crack when he meets his mark.

There's a point at which he tries to cry out, to see if his fallen partner might answer, but the dust is thick in the back of his throat. All Jeremy can do is croak.

With every wooden beam, every metal sheet he overturns, it seems less and less likely that Ryan might be okay. He gets more numb with every action.

Could be the blood loss, though.

Vaguely, he wonders how long he has left. It's entirely possible he's gone into medical shock already. His head is all facts and statements, which is a jarring change from the usual two narratives he employs during an assignment ( _fuck, yes!_ and _fuck, no!_ respectively).

What is he gonna do without Ryan?

He always assumed they'd go down together, in a rush of fire and ecstatic thrills. He wanted them to laugh their way into simultaneous death.

His combat uniform is wet with blood. The joint connecting his calf to his pelvis aches with every step.

There's movement from across an alleyway, and Jeremy forgets about the pain. His stance is perfect; his aim could bip a Cheez-It from a hundred yards away.

(That was a good one. If he bled out here, or, by some small mercy, got shot in the head, he'd have to tell Ryan that one in the next life.)

He backs against an overturned car, limping as he does so, and hopes it's enough cover to see him through the fight, until his opponent drags himself out from the shadows and it's  _Ryan._

"Fuck," breathes Jeremy, and lowers his gun, starts trudging over as fast as he can,  _"fuck_ , I'm so glad to see you-- _"_

And he looks terrible. His face is streaked with off-white dust and clotting blood, both bubbling down one of his temples and collecting there; he's holding his gun strangely, and has possibly done something bad to one of his arms.

He looks terrible. He looks  _beautiful_.

He's broken into a sprint to meet him.

"Jeremy," he chokes, half-sobs, and practically lifts him off the ground in a painfully sweet hug, their injured limbs splaying in strange directions. The numbness is gone, replaced with a  _torrent_  of relief, and it's too much for Jeremy, it's a relief overload, his leg erupts into agony and his dizziness comes back tenfold, and he's  _kissing Ryan and he doesn't know how it happened_.

And Ryan's kissing back. Hard, like he's forgotten how to breathe, and only knows how to press his nose against Jeremy's.

Jeremy  _has_  forgotten to breathe, because there's probably a lot of shit in his lungs that shouldn't be there right now, and so he pulls back in surprise.

"I thought you were dead," they say, at the same time.

Ryan starts laughing hysterically.

"You  _bastard--_ "

Oh, boy, yeah, that's the shock settling in for the night. Jeremy wants more of it, so that he doesn't have to be so acutely aware of his injuries, but he's too preoccupied with clinging to his teammate.

Ryan still has his arm splayed out at a strange angle. He's not used it in any of their contact so far, and Jeremy doesn't know if his bad counting is due to concussion or not.

"What the  _fuck_ happened to your hand?"

"Oh, that?" Ryan says, smiling too brightly and waggling his remaining digits, "lost a couple of fingers somewhere along the way. I guess whatever I lost them on cauterised most of the skin, too. It's all very neat and satisfying--"

They need to call medics. They need to get back under cover, somewhere, anywhere. They need to calm down and assess the damage they've taken so that it's as minimised as possible.

"I thought you were dead," Jeremy repeats, hoarsely, and kisses him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @kingsmanharryhart on tumblr. Thanks for the prompt!
> 
> BB!AU, with Surgeon Play Pals and Jack. Warnings for gross immature violence talk.
> 
> "Yo. if you're still looking for au prompts for jeremwood? Like a battle buddies thing where they work separately alongside the play pals and they each keep trying to one up each other until HQ just tells them to form their own team because damn you'd guys would at least get something done if you worked together you competitive assholes."

When Gavin walks into the briefing room at the agency that's hiring them out, he doesn't expect to see his and Michael's (amicable) rivals sitting opposite them.

"Battle Buddies!" Michael grins. "What did you fuck up this time? Were there explosions?"

"There's explosions when we do things right, pal, c'mon," Jeremy says. "You gotta give us more credit than that."

"Nobody's getting any credit," says Director Pattillo, sounding bored. "We're both sick of you assholes. You know the agency's considering dropping the Play Pals? We could have you shipped back to that cesspit of a butcher's fuckhole in two seconds."

"What?!" screeches Michael. "The fuck have  _we_  done?"

"Yeah," Gavin agrees, "it wasn't  _us_  who lit the Chinese Fireworks Company on fire! Christ--"

Ryan scowls at him: "yeah, but it  _was_  you two who made street art with the severed arms of Neo-Nazis."

"That was a delicate procedure. We were performing salute-ectomies."

"Yeah, and the arms are the longest bit. We linked them armband to armband to armband to make a picture," Gavin snorts.

Pattillo puts his face in his hands. "It was in the shape of a middle finger, smack in front of the Washington Monument!"

"A good day," Michael concludes.

"Anyway," Gavin says, "that wasn't nearly as bad as  _the blokes who shot Air Force One out of the sky._ "

"Hey, it was the quickest way to get everyone on board to evacuate," protests Ryan. "We had to use our brains, what else were we supposed to do? There was a bomb in the hold!"

"Shut the fuck up, dickheads!" Pattillo says, having finally had enough. "We get it, you're  _both_  the worst. But you're the only teams suitable enough for this mission--"

Gavin squawks. "Working together?!"

"Yeah," Pattillo says adamantly, "we're not happy about it either. But we've got an English prince in need of urgent surgery in Nairobi, and the hospital's been taken over by a violent group gaining prominence over there. The details are fuzzy right now, but we can have you over in eight hours. The Battle Buddies can bust in, and clear and cover the place – and the Play Pals can save a possible king. It's up to you."

Gavin thinks for a moment.

"Is it Philip?"

"Is that gonna influence whether you decide to perform surgery or not?"

"Well, he's a racist old twonk, 'ent he?" Gavin says, and Jeremy snorts so hard into his palms that he chokes a little bit.

"I don't have time for this shit. You're going to fucking Kenya."

"Noice," says Michael.

The other three turn to grin at him – yeah, Gavin thinks, it's a pretty noice set-up. His boy. His buddies. Maybe some fire, and a high, high chance of things going tits up. That was what proper missions should be like  _all_  the time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @asking-ask on tumblr. Cheers for the prompt!
> 
> FAHC, not really any warnings.
> 
> "Ryan is a vampire and Jeremy is his boyfriend OR FAHC Ryan and Jeremy go to a nightclub undercover" - I went with the second one!

Ryan drags him into a club. On any other Friday night, this would be a pleasant and rather odd surprise, but on this particular Friday night, they're running from the cops.

"In here," Ryan says, and pulls him through the smoking area.

Very abruptly, the stark neon streets and the damp asphalt are replaced with sticky floors and dark, thrumming rooms. The place is crammed with people, and there's a song playing that Jeremy doesn't recognise.

"What are we--?!" he tries to yell. His voice catches in his throat when the skull mark is torn off and stuffed into a back pocket. It's not often that he gets to see Ryan's face; he  _is_  rather attractive when he's got flushed cheeks and lips, and when his hair is sticking to his forehead.

"We blend in here," Ryan yells back, grinning.

It's true. They look like any other sweaty, exhausted clubbers in the joint, and might only be half as reckless. Ryan starts tugging him over to the corner, where the strobe lights can't touch them.

"It's your hair," he says into his ear, "we gotta hide you."

"Oh," says Jeremy, too quietly to hear, when Ryan takes him firmly by the hand and bursts free of the sea of bodies. The noise makes a repeat appearance when Ryan pushes him up against the wall. His crewmate leans down close, to whisper in his ear--

Jeremy holds his breath--

"At your two o'clock," Ryan says in a low voice, "they just came in the door."

Jeremy hopes Ryan didn't hear the moan he just let out, because he  _must_  have felt the exhalation of disappointment against his ear. "What do we do now?" he asks, trying to cover it up.

"What do you suggest?"

And  _hell_ , Ryan's looking at him through that black eye paint, and with the most devious fuckin' smirk he's ever seen on the guy, and a part of his resolve snaps and breaks and dies.

"We need to blend in," Jeremy tells him firmly.

He grabs the back of Ryan's neck, and pulls him down into a bruising kiss. He manages to keep an eye on the cops, who are looking out for a disturbance, but once they're gone, he finds he doesn't want to stop. Ryan pulls away to look over his shoulder, scouring the crowd for any further sign of trouble, but Jeremy seizes him y the collar and connects their lips again.

"We should keep hiding," he explains, when Ryan stops again to look at him delightedly. He feels like they're doing the opposite.

"Yeah, I don't think we're in the clear yet," Ryan nods, and slides his hands up Jeremy's neck. When he leans back in to keep up their charade, Jeremy stops noticing the crowds and the strobes. He's only thinking about the safety of the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymously prompted. Cheers, pal! Ah, to be a hostage in the jewellery store watching /this/ shit go down....
> 
> FAHC, warning for a stick up. 
> 
> "If you're still taking prompts: FAHC and "You really shouldn't fall in love with me." or something along those lines?"

"So... What do you want to do after this?" Ryan says casually. His voice is light, but the gun trained on the counter is unwaveringly intimidating.

"Don't know," Jeremy shrugs. His pistol is firmly fixed on the door.

"My place?"

"I... Yeah, why not?"

Ryan, through his Vagabond mask – the skull face paint, tonight – raises a whitened eyebrow at him. They've been hooking up for several months, now, after jobs. Hell, it might even be going on a year since they first started messing around, and that's a scary thought in itself, but Jeremy's not worried about that. He's worried about the fact that Ryan's sensed his hesitation in this particular moment.

"We don't have to, buddy," Ryan's saying cautiously. Jeremy spots the light from his gun glinting against the diamond necklace displays. "You know you can st--"

"Nah, it wasn't that," Jeremy tells him. "Man, I wish Michael and Gavin would hurry up. What are they doing? Is Gavin picking out new earrings again?"

"Don't change the subject."

Jeremy eyes up their two hostages carefully, and considers his options. He can let Ry know what he  _really_  wants, and maybe have it go gruesomely wrong, or he can keep it a secret forever and continue fucking him.

He goes with Option One.

"I was just thinking, like," he says, playing with the safety catch, "maybe we could grab some food together after this. Or... something. I don't know."

"Like a date?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't dare look the Vagabond in the face, but he can hear the smirk bleeding into his voice: "you  _really_  shouldn't fall in love with me, y'know."

"Yeah, well," Jeremy laughs. "Too late for that, I guess." There's a scratch on the glass doors he keeps tracing with his vision, over and over, back and forth, in some sort of comfort move. "You know I'm not good at taking any notice of warning signs, V, come  _on_."

A loaded silence follows, like the air of death does when they burst onto the scene, until he hears Ryan playing with the safety catch on  _his_  pistol, too. "Up," he barks at a hostage, and Jeremy doesn't have the nerve to let himself get distracted from the door, when his colleage's so obviously busy.

Footsteps. A finger, clad in the leather of driving gloves, jabbing against the glass cabinets. "That one.  _Now,_ " the man orders, and then, in a much softer voice: "hey, RT. Catch."

Jeremy turns in surprise, just in time to catch a loop of metal soaring across the store. It wriggles in a neat arc, and he snatches it from the air; it's the chain Ryan always wears, except it's got a silver ring looped through it.

"Not gold, because Gavin would throw a shit fit... Won't fit your hands, probably, so it needs the chain."

Jeremy stares at him, and covering the door be damned.

"Is this a proposal?" he jokes, because he can't think of anything else to say when his hair's standing on end like this.

"Nope," Ryan grins. He distorts his skull paint freakishly when he screws his face up like that. "Not a proposal. Just a promise."

(Though they're often the same thing, Jeremy notes.)

He decides to push his luck that little bit further: "and a yes for dinner, then?"

Gavin and Michael are soon gonna burst out of the back of the store, bags brimming with precious stones and platinum; Rimmy Tim and the Vagabond are gonna have to follow them out as soon as the hostages sound the alarm. It might be a bumpy ride out. They might not even make it back til late.

Ryan laughs loudly, and it echoes off the walls of their crime scene. "It's a yes," he confirms, baring teeth. "It's a yes to dinner, Jeremy."

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com)!


End file.
